St Patrick's Day
by annastern2009
Summary: Sam hates St. Patrick's day, he always has. He wants to forget the entire day. From now on, it will be just a mere counting tool.  Summary's suck, trust me x x


St. Patrick's day meant very little to Sam. What reason did he have to celebrate? He wasn't twenty-one years old yet, so he couldn't go 'pub crawling' like it was being advertised on the radio. Hell, he wasn't even eighteen yet, so it wasn't like he would get invited to many parties either. He may have been a sophmore in high school, but that didn't give him instant popularity, especially since his brother was no longer in school.

What else did that mean? That St. Patrick's day was one of his least favorite holidays. One of the most underated, but he absolutly detested it without Dean being in school.

He had always been an easy target for bullies. He didn't stand up for himself much, he wasn't the biggest guy around, and he was shy. It was easier to just let them hit him and get bored than to cause a ruckus and get kicked out of the school of the week. He didn't keep track of it this year, didn't pay attention to the fact that it was Friday and also the holiday of his nightmares. He didn't get to go shopping, so he hadn't seen the bright green necklaces and glasses litering all the racks in the isles. And what was it, exactly, that happened when one didn't wear green on this holiday?

They got pinched.

Normally the tradition was small, just friends easily pinching eachother once and then forgetting what the hell was going on for the day. Not for Sam. He had been pinched several times that day, very long, hard pinches that had already started to bruise. He tried to hide it though, to let it seem like it didn't matter. He just glared at each one he got, shrugging out of their grasp before he stalked down the hallway.

Thirteen pinches. Two bruises. That is what St. Patrick's day meant to Sam this year. It also meant bloody knuckles and air hissed through his teeth as he rammed his hand yet again into the wall outside their hotel room door. He could control his temper at school, he wanted to be there. He loved school, so of course he wasn't going to risk doing anything that would get him kicked out of there. But at home? It was hard enough keeping himself calm when things had gone perfectly all day, he knew better than to risk it with the current circumstances. Hitting the wall... it may not be the smartest of things to do, but it got out his frustrations.

Holding his hand against his side, knuckles against the seam of his jeans, he slipped his key into the lock, pushing open the door to let him inside. It was quiet, he knew it would be. Dad had said that morning he was leaving for an investigation, someone Sammy was happy about, to be honest. They had been starting to argue more and more, so time alone? It was nice. Dean was probably at some bar, drinking to celebrate and hustling some pool. It was the main way they got money when Dad was gone, since his brother refused to get a real job.

His lips tugged down as his raw knuckle dragged against the denim, sending painful tingles up his arm. Shrugging out of his jacket, he dropped it on top of his bed, bag easily following suit. He let his feet carry him, moving towards the tiny hotel bathroom. He knew instantly where the first aid kit was that they always kept. Hunting demons wasn't exactly the safest job, so his dad always came home needing something stitched or something bandaged. Gauze, wrap, and peroxide got taken out of the case, closing it with a click before he undid the lid from the alcohol. He knew to be ready for the sting that came with the liquid against his knuckles, but it didn't make it hurt any less. "Shiiitt.." The word was hissed under his breath as he groaned, leaning heavily against the sink as he waited a moment. Short gasps of air were sucked in and out of his teeth as he tried to get past the pain, before he placed the gauze on his knuckles, the wrap going on quickly after that.

As soon as he was done, he let his feet drag him lazily into the main room, falling backwards onto the bed. The headboard became his resting place for his back. The TV channels changed quickly as he flicked through them, growing more and more aggitated as each one passed. There was nothing on that didn't have to do with the holiday. Hitting the power button, he threw the remote off the bed, shifting to lay with his head on the pillow, his eyes counting the ridges in the ceiling. It was only four o'clock, barely off of school, yet he could already feel himself dozing off. Maybe it was a good thing, he could wake up with the day almost gone. Maybe an excuse for his hurt hand would come to him in a dream.

It didn't matter either way what happened. With his dad gone and Dean out doing god knew what, there wasn't really that much of an option either way. He let his eyes drift closed, hurt hand laying on the bed beside him while his good one moved to rest on his stomach.

Dean would wake him up when he got home. Possibly by stumbling around drunk and running into things, which would only prove more entertainment. But at least Dean would be home.

School sucked without his brother there, especially on St. Patrick's day, to keep an eye on him, even at sixteen years old. But Dean couldn't be there anymore to protect him. He knew that the next three years would be hard. He'd have to stand up for himself from then on, or just... let the bullies get to him.

He knew one thing for sure though. No matter how much his dad wanted to ignore the subject and just brush it off whenever Sam brought it up, he was counting down the days till he graduated. Counting down the days till he could go away for college. He didn't want to leave his brother, and most of the time he didn't want to leave his dad. But the life of a hunter? He didn't want it. He wanted to be normal, to get married and have a normal career.

Eight-hundred and ten days until he graduated. Three more St. Patrick days.

Then Sam would finally be free.


End file.
